


Galatea

by thedevilchicken



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Artists, Assassin's Creed: Odyssey, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Mid-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:14:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22211614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/pseuds/thedevilchicken
Summary: Phidias has made a statue of a certain eagle-bearing misthios. Alexios finds out.
Relationships: Alexios/Phidias (Assassin's Creed)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 79





	Galatea

**Author's Note:**

> This fic assumes that Alexios chose the "pretend you're Phidias' lover and make innuendo at the guard" option for getting into the warehouse!

"You know, I heard what you said to the guard when were still in Athens," Phidias says. 

Alexios knows exactly what he's talking about. Sure, so he's said a lot of different things to a lot of different guards over the years, but that doesn't mean he's forgetful about those things; he has a long memory, especially where the people he likes - and the people he hates - are concerned. Phidias, as it happens, belongs to the former group rather than the latter. He remembers what he said.

Alexios sets his hands on his hips. When he feels a smile start to form, he doesn't stop it spreading. "Oh yes?" he says. "And what was that?" 

"You told him I was your lover," Phidias replies. "Or you implied it. You said it had been a long time since we had... _seen_ each other."

"Well, at least one part of that was true." Alexios shrugs. He gestures. He knows he talks with his hands sometimes; he always does when his hands aren't holding weapons. "We hadn't... _seen_ each other. It's just that 'in a long time' was more accurately 'never'." 

Phidias frowns. He looks down at the chisel in his hands and then back up at Alexios. "I've wondered, sometimes: how far would you have gone to make the guard believe your story?"

It's an interesting question, but he doesn't ask himself what the answer is. What he asks himself is why Phidias is asking him, and the answer is completely obvious: Phidias is an artist, but the way he's looking at him is not how most artists would. Phidias has an attraction to him, which he's known since Athens. And if it might take their minds off the Cult just for a while, Alexios has no objections to exploring that at all. 

Alexios raises his brows. He tilts his head. "I'm a very dedicated man, Phidias," he says. He takes a not-quite-casual half-step closer to him. "I would have gone _all_ the way." 

When Phidias tries to put the chisel down, he's not watching what he's doing. His eyes are on Alexios, slightly wide with surprise, and the chisel slips off the block of marble and falls to the floor - it lands with a clatter that makes its owner jump. He's somehow even jumpier now that he's in Olympia instead of Athens, but that's Phidias; Alexios finds the paranoia exasperating but somehow still endearing, too. 

Alexios drops down onto one knee to retrieve the chisel from the floor. While he's down there, he puts it firmly on the marble block where Phidias had intended it to go, and he looks up at him. He knows the look on his face is so exaggeratedly casual as to not be casual at all. 

"What else do you think about?" he asks. He doesn't sound casual. Or innocent. He sounds suggestive, because he's definitely suggesting something. 

There's a second when he thinks Phidias might just stutter some kind of excuse and then flee. There's a second when he thinks Phidias might take the hint and ask him to show him exactly what he means. "I think about what I might do to repay you for saving my life," he says instead. 

"Oh, I can think of a few things," Alexios replies. He rises, closer. "Maybe you could put my face on one of your statues." Phidias' mouth twists, the look somewhere between a grimace and a sheepish smile, and he rubs the back of his neck. "Oh, so you already have?"

Phidias pauses. "Would you like to see it?" he asks.

Alexios was joking, he really was. He's not vain; he doesn't want to see his face on a statue, not even one of Phidias'. But he nods. He says yes. And Phidias takes him to it, at the back of the workshop, by a window that's closed so no one can see in, underneath a heavy sheet. He pulls it down, not one big tug in a sweeping reveal but bit by bit like he's nervous about it. Alexios has never seen him nervous about his work; about the world at large, yes, but not his work. 

"Phidias..." he says, once the sheet's off, when he's looking at what's underneath. It's only about as tall as Alexios is himself, except it's standing on a base about three hands high, and it's stark naked except for a pair of sandals that look suspiciously like Alexios' favourites. The stone looks smooth, so he reaches out to touch it, one thigh, one hip, then his fingers trace the pronounced furrow that runs from hip to pubis. He does that with one hand; with the other one, he feels the same place on himself, through his tunic. They match.

"It's a good likeness, yes?" Phidias says, which is much more like a statement than a question. He knows he's right because it's obvious exactly who the statue is. Alexios recognises his own face on it.

"Oh, I don't know..." Alexios replies. He drags a sturdy box across the floor with a squeak of wood on stone and he stands on top of it; it brings him face to face and eye to eye with the statue that looks so very much like he does. And he knows Phidias probably saw him naked at some point, on the Adrestia, more than once - drying off after a swim, changing clothes - but he didn't realise how clear his memory of that would be. 

He rests his hands on the statue's arms for a moment, rubbing the place where his scars should be but aren't, then he unbuckles the sword from around his waist and tosses it down to Phidias who catches it awkwardly and puts it down next to his chisel. He pulls his tunic off over his head and he drops it to the ground. A few quick pulls and his loincloth joins his tunic. Then he turns, naked except for his favourite sandals - _those_ sandals, the ones the statue's wearing. He puts his hands on his hips and looks down at Phidias. 

"What do you think?" he asks. "Does it look like me?"

Phidias swallows. He nods. "It does," he says. "Except..." He flaps one hand in the direction of that exception. Alexios laughs. 

"Well, no doubt the statue will be easier to sell with such aesthetically pleasing manhood," he says. He reaches out and gives the statue's socially acceptable tiny stone cock and balls an amused squeeze, then he does the same with his substantially larger ones. Phidas' cheeks turn pink. Alexios narrows his eyes. "You _are_ going to sell it, yes?"

"I like it where it is," Phidias says, defensively. 

"But the marble alone must have cost..." He gestures vaguely, suddenly unsure how much marble actually costs, unsure where he got it from, unsure if he bought it for this or if he'd borrowed from a commission. 

"Maybe I think it's worth the cost." 

"To have your very own misthios watching over you?" He puts his hands on his hips again, aware he's still naked, aware Phidias is trying very hard to keep his eyes on his face and not let them fall lower. "Or do you watch over it instead? Is that why it's back here, under a sheet, so you're the only one who sees it?"

"It really is a very good likeness." 

"But still not quite like the real thing." 

"Well, no. I'm Phidias, not Pygmalion; Aphrodite doesn't bring my statues to life." 

"But you'd like her to?"

"Perhaps just this one, yes." 

"You know, you might be waiting a while for that. Aphrodite seems to be otherwise occupied." Phidias nods. Alexios shifts. "But...have you ever touched it? After it was finished, I mean. Do you touch it, like Pygmalion?" 

"From time to time." 

"Hmm." Alexios casts his eyes over the statue again, standing there to his right. "You should show me." 

"I should show you?"

"Yes, I think you should show me how you touch it." 

Phidias moves. He walks toward the statue but as he passes, Alexios leans down to take his arm. Phidias frowns. Alexios raises his brows. He stands up straight, still on his box. 

"You should show me _on me_ ," he says. 

For a moment, again, it looks like Phidias is going to stop, balk and retreat, but he doesn't. He lifts his hands and he skims Alexios' thighs. His thumbs trace his hipbones. And he pauses a second like he's not sure if Alexios is joking; he looks up, like he's trying to figure that out, and Alexios shifts just a little, assuming the statue's pose as closely as he can. He goes still, except for his breath, almost as still as the statue, and Phidias seems to take that as a sign. It was meant as one.

He puts his mouth on him. Alexios has had a number of lovers over the years but none of them have touched him like Phidias does right now - he touches him like he's stone instead of flesh, like he's the one who sculpted him, like he knows every inch of him already. His fingers trace the muscles in his abdomen like he's done this a hundred times before, while his mouth presses hotly to Alexios' still soft cock. It's not soft for long, though. He feels himself stiffen and one of Phidias' hands dips between his thighs to squeeze his balls and the other moves around his hip to trace the crack of his ass. 

"Do you touch all of your statues like this?" Alexios asks, as Phidias seals his lips around the head of his cock and gives a long, slow suck. He pulls back. he looks up. 

"No," he says, as he's rubbing the space behind Alexios' balls, firmly, like he's moulding clay. Alexios can feel a drop of moisture leak from the tip of his cock and run down the underside until Phidias licks it off. "Only this one."

"So, Aphrodite brings me to life. What do you do next?"

"I bring you down from the dais."

"And then?"

"Then I take you to my workbench."

"And then...?"

"Then I take off my tunic."

"And...?"

"Well, usually I just use..." He trails off. He stands and walks unsteadily across the room; Alexios can see that he's erect under his tunic. He rifles through a set of drawers and then comes back with something in his hands, and he holds it out for Alexios to see. 

"An olisbos?"

Phidias nods. Alexios frowns at it. He holds out one hand and Phidias hesitates a second before he places it in it. When he holds it down next to his own erection, it's almost identical, from the girth to the length to the pattern of veins sculpted into the stone; it must have been that night he caught him on the docks with Roxana. Phidias has a truly remarkable memory.

Of course, he hasn't seen Phidias for a while; he wonders how many times his cock's been inside him in the meantime. And he thinks about asking him to show him that, too, because he remembers a time with Alkibiades, but what he says is, "So, Aphrodite brings me to life." He hops down from the box. "And you brings me down from the dais." He gestures toward Phidias' worktable; they both move toward it. "You bring me to your table...you take off your tunic."

Phidias fumbles with the pins at his shoulders, his usually then just pulls the whole thing off over his head. He tosses it onto the table then he bends down over it. He inches his feet apart and Alexios rests the cold tip of the olisbos just at the indent by his tailbone. Phidias shivers. 

"And then I fuck you with this?" Alexios says. 

Phidias nods. The bench is high and once he's dragged a pot of oil a little closer, something he probably uses for his tools, or else maybe just _this_ tool, he braces himself on his forearms. "Yes," he replies, with a strain in his voice that Alexios has no trouble hearing. 

He doesn't fuck him with the olisbos. He leans against him, leans past him, and he dips the first two fingers of one hand into the oil, then he parts Phidias' cheeks and lets it drip against his hole. He takes the pot and he drizzles it between his cheeks, just enough so it runs down and drips from his balls onto the floor. And then he slicks himself till he's almost dripping, too, still holding the olisbos in one hand, and maybe the olisbos is the same in length and girth as he is but Phidias has to know the difference when he presses the tip of his cock against him. He has to know the difference when he starts to push himself inside. 

He groans. So does Phidias. Alexios has to wonder how he measures up to the fantasy, but not for long; Phidias comes unexpectedly against the side of his workbench, so weak-kneed as he does it that Alexios has to hold him up, and maybe a minute later, hips thrusting, Alexios finishes inside him. Maybe it's quick, and it's over quickly, but it does still feel satisfying. 

He sets the olisbos down on the bench while he's still in him, just so he's sure he knows, then he pulls out. He wipes himself off on a nearby cloth, and Phidias does the same. Phidias turns, flushed and damp and slightly breathless. 

"So, does Aphrodite let you keep me, or do I turn back to stone?" Alexios asks. 

Phidias smiles wryly. "I'm still not Pygmalion," he replies. "She turns you back." But Alexios steps in close and sets his hands at Phidias' hips. 

"Is it me you want or the statue?"

"Well, the statue won't leave Olympia." 

Alexios nods. He understands. "And I will," he says. 

"You have responsibilities. Of course you will." 

"But not tonight, at least." He steps closer still, till they're skin on skin. "Aphrodite says you can take your statue home tonight." 

Phidias doesn't need to be told twice; twenty minutes later, they're in his bed. Turns out they both have at least one more round in them. 

Tomorrow, he'll leave Elis. But tonight, well, maybe that's a gift from Aphrodite.


End file.
